


Three Meals The Grey's Anatomy Cast (Probably) Didn't Share

by orphan_account



Category: Grey's Anatomy RPF
Genre: Gen, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Six actors. Three opportunities to socialize and share food.





	Three Meals The Grey's Anatomy Cast (Probably) Didn't Share

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trinnifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinnifer/gifts).



> Note from diana, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Pretty Lights](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretty_lights), which closed for financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Pretty Lights collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/prettylights/profile).

**1. _i'll trade you that cupcake for my fruit roll-up_  (breakfast)**   
  
TR and Katie have a system. Every Monday, between the time TR steps out of hair and makeup, and the time when the girls need to finish up Patrick so Katie can have her turn, they meet outside the wardrobe trailer and compare shooting schedules. And every week, they find the little breaks between scenes that probably won't run long and scenes that'll probably start late, to meet in Katie's trailer for snack time.   
  
And maybe it's not so much "snack time" as it is "TR sitting while Katie satisfies her hummingbird-like metabolism," but still. There are snacks.   
  
Except that when TR walks up the steps today - still wearing his scrubs, but with a pair of fuzzy red slippers - Katie's not snacking. She's not even  _looking_ at her food (trail mix, because it's one snack after dinner but two snacks before they wrap for the day), she's just sitting there, looking not unlike a petulant child missing a teddy bear. And TR would never admit it, but Katie's sort of adorable when she gets like this, so he doesn't mind slumping down on the couch next to her. "Okay," he says, catching her eye. "Something's wrong."   
  
"Oh,  _seriously_? I had no idea."   
  
And, okay. The sarcasm thing is a lot less flattering than the petulant four-year-old thing. But she's cranky, and clearly overtired, and being hungry (because she does do all of that snacking for a reason) probably isn't helping. So TR just pokes her in the side, and grins. "You just seriouslied."   
  
"Shut up."   
  
"You did."   
  
Katie scowls, and crosses her arms across her chest. "Have you read one of the scripts before? It just. . .creeps in. I don't know."   
  
"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong yet?"   
  
TR's staring at her, because he knows she hates it when he stares at her, and because she needs to hurry up and tell him why she's pouting alone in her trailer. After all, they've only got fifteen minutes to work through all of her issues and finish their snack.   
  
"Why would I tell you what's wrong?" she says, shifting uncomfortably under his glare. "I'm fine. I'm awesome, it's nothing."   
  
"If you don't, I'll tell Sandra you seriouslied."   
  
Which is, they both know, a serious threat. Because Sandra is lovely, but she's also not above teasing Katie for days. And it's not that she's especially mean, not at all. It's just that she's absolutely fascinated (and maybe 'amused' is a better word, but TR would never mention that around Katie) by the way art seems to imitate life so closely with Katie. "TR, don't you dare."   
  
"I'm not above doing it."   
  
He's really, really not. Especially if it'll make Katie talk, when she's so upset she doesn't even raise an eyebrow at TR for leaning forward and grabbing a handful of trail mix (Katie's is always better than the stuff from the store, because she adds extra M&Ms) from the bag on the table.   
  
"Theodore Raymond, I swear to god - I  _just_  got her to stop calling me Izzie from the last time she heard me do it."   
  
TR puts on his best resolve face, and nudges her with his elbow. "Then tell me what's wrong."   
  
"You promise you won't tell her?"   
  
"Seriously," he says, and offers his hand. She shakes it with a solemn scowl on her face, like they're making a death pact, but he knows she feels better about having somebody to tell because the next time he goes for a peanut, she smacks his hand away.   
  
"Kate's doing a sex scene."   
  
One of the things TR appreciates about being friends with Katie is that she does things like this. Little things that TR finds alternately baffling and charming, but remind him of one very important fact. Girls are  _weird._    
  
He knows Kate's doing a sex scene. He was there at the table read, sitting next to Katie, when they went over it. He was there with Katie on Monday morning, when they planned their snack breaks around it. He's even positive he remembers Katie being excited, because she thought filming might run long and give them an extra five minutes to themselves. But. . .well. Clearly this is somehow new and upsetting news, and clearly as the Gay Best Friend, TR should be thinking of something clever and supportive to say to this. But all he can come up with is, "So?"   
  
"So,  _Kate's_  doing a sex scene."   
  
"And. . .you want to be doing a sex scene? Or you don't want America to see her tastefully naked from the armpits up?"   
  
She gives him this withering look, like  _he's_  the one being unreasonable, and delicately pops an almond into her mouth. "Yeah, I think the problem here is definitely that I'm concerned for Kate's virtue."   
  
"But you hate getting naked on camera."   
  
"I know I hate getting naked on camera. But Kate has a  _sex scene._ "   
  
She keeps repeating that phrase like saying it more is somehow going to make it meaningful, but TR still can't wrap his head around what the hell she's talking about. So all he's really getting out of this conversation are the different ways Katie can deliver the same sentence, and really, he already knew that. "I'm still not seeing what's wrong."   
  
She looks down, avoiding his eyes and staring into her trail mix like it has all the answers. "I just. . .it'd be nice to be asked, is all."   
  
He smiles over at her, and wraps his arm around her shoulders. Because she's adorable and petulant and it's when she does things like this that she makes him feel warm all over and relieved that they're friends. Even if she is a girl, sometimes. "If it were up to me, I'd ask you to get naked every single week."   
  
She snuggles into his side a little, and rests her head on his shoulder. "And every week, I'd say 'no.'"   
  
 **2. _boys will be_  (lunch)**   
  
Ellen and Patrick aren't just co-workers. They're Friends, the capital-F kind that the media loves to follow around whenever they come to visit. (Which is a lot, although less often since that incident nobody's quite ready to talk about yet.) Because Patrick  _knows_  Ellen. And he doesn't always understand her, except in hindsight, but she keeps him guessing, and she's got the most endearing laugh. Which somehow, makes doing unpleasant things - like attending press dinners, or sitting through events where there aren't even going to be any photographers - just a little bit more bearable.   
  
And Ellen? Well, Patrick's almost unnerved at how well she understands him.   
  
So, because they're Ellen and Patrick, America's Hottest Off-And-On-Screen Couple (nevermind the fact that he's married and she's very nearly married herself), and because they just  _get_  each other, they have a standing arrangement. And part of it is definitely for appearances and charming anecdotes, in case anyone asks, but the fact that they sort of enjoy each others' company is kind of a factor, if they both think about it. But either way, without fail, they meet somewhere on set every second shooting day (except OR days, because they're stuck together for sixteen hours anyway), to eat a pleasant, friendly meal.   
  
And since today is one of those days, Patrick is sitting at a table next to craft services waiting for Ellen, like he usually is. (The day she's on time for lunch, he jokes, will be the first sign of the apocalypse. She laughs about half the time he says it.) He's just taking a first bite of his salad, when Ellen sets her tray next to his, and sits down. "I think you should start getting regular manicures."   
  
Patrick's known Ellen long enough that really, he shouldn't be surprised anymore when she does this kind of thing. But somehow, she catches him off guard every time. And even though this happens more often than he's quite comfortable with, Patrick still hasn't mastered the art of taking things like this in stride - or even gracefully, he thinks, as he half-chokes on a bit of lettuce. "You think I should start -" he pauses for a minute, coughing on balsamic vinegar that he's pretty sure is in his lungs. "- getting  _what_?"   
  
"Regular manicures. To help with your thing."   
  
"What thing?"   
  
She grabs his hand - the one with the fork in it, like she doesn't even notice that he's trying to eat his lunch - and runs her thumb over his nails. "That thing."   
  
He looks down. And, okay, maybe his nails aren't in the best shape, and maybe it is a bit of a nervous habit. But it's not like biting his nails is something he started doing recently, and well. Even if it is, it's none of her business. "It is  _not_  a  _thing_ ," he tells her.   
  
But even as he says it, the look on her face makes his stomach sink. It's like she was waiting for him to disagree. "Look," she says, sliding her tray aside to give herself room to peel her orange. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings or anything. I'm just saying, you're Patrick Dempsey. You're an internationally-renowned actor, and two-time second-sexiest man in Am-"   
  
" _Ellen_."   
  
She rolls her eyes, but skips ahead. ". . .and you have a certain image to uphold. Getting your nails done once every couple weeks might help."   
  
Patrick sighs, and stabs at his salad like it's the one asking him to get a manicure. Because Ellen's right, and they both know it. (And not just because she's  _always_  right, for reasons Patrick hasn't quite found the energy to puzzle out.) But he's not happy about it, and they both know why.   
  
He's not the type of person who would say anything, but it's there in the way he stabs at his lunch, in the way he sets his jaw and glares at her.  _Manicures are for girls._    
  
"I'm just saying," she says, eyes flicking down to his hands and back up again. "It wouldn't hurt."   
  
 **3. _cholelithotripsy, the process of crushing gallstones using sound waves_  (dinner)**   
  
"You know, this would be easier if you were being a little more supportive."   
  
Justin looks over at Sandra, like he's upset about the fact that she's eating her lunch during time she promised she'd spend helping him run lines. And, okay. Maybe it is a little rude to read her part slouched against the floor, sunglasses holding her hair back while she takes half-hearted bites of smoked turkey on whole wheat. Especially when he's standing next to her, pacing like he really is a doctor, and lives do depend on his job.   
  
But in Sandra's defense, this is the fifth time they've gone through this scene, and it's not  _her_  fault Justin still can't get his mouth around this week's medical jargon. Still, she finishes chewing, and tries to placate him with a look. "Fine. I'm supporting. See?" she sits up a little straighter, and pulls her sunglasses over her eyes. "Serious business."   
  
It is a little funny, enough that he lets himself smile. But not enough that he's going to let her get out of this, so he nods and slips into character, waits until she does the same. "Yeah, right, Karev. Nothing trumps my guy."   
  
"Nice try, Yang. My guy? Came in for a choleli - choelitho - fucking  _fuck._ "   
  
"I don't think that's the line."   
  
Justin narrows his eyes and scowls. "No, I'm pretty sure it's not."   
  
There's a long pause, until Justin catches Sandra looks at him warily - at least he thinks that's what it is, he can't tell when she's still wearing her sunglasses. "Look, if you're going to sulk for a bit, do you mind if I. . .?"   
  
She motions to her sandwich.   
  
Justin shakes his head, because he doesn't. Because this is ridiculous, and it's not her fault the writers are trying to get him to say things like "cholelithotripsy," which he kind of suspects isn't even a real word. "Nah, go ahead. I'm probably going to get fired, anyway, I don't think it matters if I haven't made it through this page yet."   
  
Sandra bursts into giggles, sunglasses sliding half-off their perch in her hair to cover one eye and half her forehead. "Yeah, they're definitely going to fire you over this. Because there's no way you'll  _ever_  be able to learn to pronounce - " She takes another look at his line, and frowns. "Think anybody'll notice when they recast you?"   
  
Justin just sighs and leans back against the wall, letting himself slide down until he's sitting next to her. "Probably not. I'll just get replaced with Stamos or somebody like it's nothing."   
  
She shrugs a little, re-adjusts her sunglasses artfully in her hair. "Well, at least you've still got your good looks."   
  
"Damn straight."


End file.
